Scent
by BalthierFlare
Summary: Edward describes Bella's scent to her, and his opinion about it.


**A/N: Here is another Twilight fic. ******

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, the characters, the plot, anything!**

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_-Scent-_

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"Everyone has their own scent," he told me.

"Really?"

"Mhmm," he subtly replied. He stepped beside me, slowly reaching for my wrist, and then brushed his nose along my skin.

"What do I smell like?" I asked, clearly intrigued. Certainly I had a right to know, and to be curious.

He paused for a moment, still with a firm, but gentle grip around my wrist. He moved his head closer, and inhaled once more. He suddenly lifted his head, dropped my wrist and walked over to the other side of my room.

I didn't know if I should speak. I hadn't done anything to try to provoke him, maybe I smelled bad. I hoped not.

"You smell like..." His voice drifted and then he started, "Everyone has about three base scents. The first two are easy to pick up on, and the third is something that is essential to their overall scent, but is hard to actually realize. I guess it's like, hmm...a...chef, trying to decipher a recipe. They automatically can taste the broth in the soup, and the vegetables, but they aren't quite sure what spice is added to give it that exact taste..." He ambled around my room, his mouth slightly parted as if he were going to continue but did not have the right words.

"What are my first two smells?" I asked, still very intrigued.

He smirked, but then his face returned to an expressionless statue, "Well, the most dominant is vanilla."

I smiled; vanilla isn't a bad scent at all. I like vanilla.

"I, myself, have my own opinion about scents. The rest of my kind may not feel the same, but I believe scents are a great description of personality. Its how you feel when you're around scents," he stopped abruptly; "I don't think I'm making a bit of sense, am I?"

I nodded and waited for him to continue. He walked towards my only window, parted the curtains, and glanced outward. I anxiously picked at the threads of my comforter, trying to patiently wait for his next thoughts.

He didn't seem to realize I had responded, so I quietly voiced, "I understand...or I can try to understand what you mean."

He smirked, "Vanilla. It's your most noticeable scent. When I think of vanilla, I think of something everyone likes. It's familiar, and it has nice flavor," He paused at the awkward moment, "Would you like for me to stop?"

"No, it's fine." Truth was I expected him to say something like this. It seemed appropriate. I guess it was trying to describe how a Whopper tastes to a vegetarian.

"Vanilla, it's also good. It's not like chocolate, how people view it as fattening or a secret luxury. Vanilla is open, and it is honest. Second is mint it however, is much different. It's refreshing; it pops out in a crowd, and screams 'look at me!' It makes you feel renewed, and it's invigorating..."

He shut the curtains, slowly making his way toward the south corner of my room and sat in my desk chair. He rested his chin in his hand, resembling The Thinker, then proceeded, "Nutmeg."

For the longest time he seemed distant, like he was thinking too deeply. He finally faced me with a crooked smile, his eyes connecting with mine.

He quickly turned away, snatching a pen from my desk and repeatedly pressing the button atop for the point to appear. He set it down and then said, "Nutmeg...the third scent. It takes some getting used to. It's like the chef, after tasting the soup often enough finally realizes the final spice. It's also similar to being friends with someone. Just when you think you know them through and through, they do something you never would of expected. It's the final key to making them who they are. The third scent takes a lot of time to be noticed, and is essential to who you are. I think nutmeg certainly suits you. Nutmeg is strong, and it's sweet. It knows when to stand out and when to go unnoticed. It can be liked, or disliked."

I smiled; he had made such a pleasant description. He must've believed I was fitting of it. I guess that is what truly made me happy.

"Nutmeg is perfect to tie together the soft and sweet vanilla, with the refreshing and bold mint," He glanced toward me, he picked up the pen again and added, "Now, I don't think they would make a good cookie, but they do make a nice scent together."

He dropped the pen to the wooden slate and walked towards the window. He slightly turned his head toward me, his eyes remaining focused on my carpet.

"I should leave now."

Before I could tell him not to, the panes of my window were forced open, a shot of wind burst through and instantly lowered the temperature. I shivered reflexively, and hurried to the sill. There was no sign of his exit, the environment seemed completely undisturbed. Just then an audible knock sounded from outside my bedroom door.

"You got the window open in there? There's a freezing draft slipping through the crack of your door!" Charlie called from the hall.

I rushed through shutting it, and smashed my thumb. I snapped the locks into place and swung the curtains to cover my window, then sucked on my aching thumb.

"I wanted some fresh air but didn't realize how chilly it was," I blurted out a lame excuse for I could sense him waiting outside of my door.

"Okay," he mumbled. I could hear his boots shuffle down the hallway and shut the bathroom door.

I fumbled over to my twin-size bed, scrambling on top until I found comfortable position slumped against my bare wall. My finger was throbbing, like it had it's own heartbeat. I gripped it angrily in a sad attempt to shush the echoing heartbeats I heard every second. I loosened my hold and glanced down at my finger to see it had already bruised. My eyes wandered back to my window, the branches of a nearby sycamore tree waving nearby. The quieted throbbing still stuck in the back of my mind.

I wondered if I would ever be able to know his scent.

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**A/N: Hope you liked it. ******** Read and review, please. **


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